The Anthology of We
by jehbel
Summary: A collection of YuGiOh inspired short stories. Each chapter will contain a new and unrelated story. Some stories may be NSFW. Please read the author's note in Chapter 1 for more information.
1. Books and Boredom

**WELCOME**

 **I have decided to tinker away and build a bit of a collection, or anthology, if you will, of short Yu-Gi-Oh related tales. They will not necessarily be connected to the events or characters from my first two stories, Dark Thoughts and Not Always Smooth Sailing, but if they are, I will indicate at the start so that you know. They may contain inside jokes or references relevant to that 'universe' I created, or simply contain ships/pairings that I nominated in those stories.**

 **If you want to see a short story based on a specific pairing/ship, please let me know and I'll try to accommodate J**

 **Some of these WILL contain smut. Others won't. I'll specify at the top so that you know.**

 **Key to stories:**

 ****OU** = 'Original Universe'- this will relate to the timeline/people in my two larger stories.**

 ****SC** = 'Smut Content'- turn the kiddies away.**

 **I hope you enjoy. I will update periodically but perhaps not as often as I did with my larger stories; as inspiration hits, I will create :D**

 **I dedicate this anthology to the two people who inspire and encourage me the most on this site- my friend InLoveWithMysteries (who has just posted the first chapter of their first fic- get over there and show them some love!) and Neko-May Resha, who is also a regular commentator and source of encouragement. Thanks guys for making fanfic that little bit more fun J Also, to JustCallMeLucie, I have finally done that Yami/Yugi one-shot you asked for. Only took me six months! Haha.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **~Jehbel**

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 **Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh**.

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Yugi reclined against his Partner, his legs hooked over the edge of the couch, swinging without rhythm as he flicked through the pages of his book. He was deeply immersed, his large purple eyes flicking quickly down the pages; Yami idly wondered how he could take in the words when his eyes moved so fast. Every now and then he gave a chuckle as the read a particularly amusing section, his cute little face scrunching with amusement; the movement bringing him ever-heavier against Yami's body.

Yami sighed, frustrated.

It wasn't that Yugi was enjoying the book, really it wasn't. It wasn't that Yugi found the words of some unknown person amusing, or sad, or compelling. It wasn't that he was immersed in something other than his Partner, who was sitting rather glumly beside him pretending to enjoy the gameshow on television.

But it _was._ It was all of those things.

 _I am a fool. Why am I feeling jealous of a BOOK for Ra's sake? Snap out of it!_

But it could not be helped.

Yami huffed a little and shifted his position, being careful not to jostle Yugi, who was still leaning back against his right arm, his long hair occasionally tickling Yami's ear. He crossed his legs. He uncrossed them.

The television gameshow erupted into raucous laughter; Yami chuckled along mechanically, unsure of where the humour was; he had lost track about fifteen minutes ago. Yugi gave a little sigh.

His arm was warm with Yugi's weight.

His backside was sore from sitting in the same position.

 _I hate that book. And whoever wrote it._

Finally, Yami could take no more. With a small cough, he shifted his weight slightly, bringing Yugi's attention to himself. His aibou peered up and backward at him, his large purple eyes like owlish orbs. "Yami? I'm sorry, am I too heavy? I'll move so that you can enjoy your show." With a sweet smile, Yugi swung his legs around and off the couch, and standing with a small stretch. "Gahhh! My legs are numb! I didn't even feel that happening." With a stiff hobble, Yugi wandered over to the large squashy armchair in the corner of the room, the book swinging from his hand. With a sigh, he flomped himself into the soft upholstery, curling his legs up like a cat. With a final small smile at Yami, he opened the book and began to read in earnest again. His face quickly melted into studious seriousness again.

Yami stared. This was worse. Now his Hikari was happily ensconced on the armchair, reading this stranger's book, enjoying himself, and Yami could not even touch him in the process. What fresh hell was this?

With frustration, Yami leapt to his feet and began to stalk from the room. Perhaps if he found and handily beat Kaiba at a duel, it would take his mind off the frustration and irrational jealousy. His head was down, hands thrust deep into his jacket pocket as he walked.

With a sudden rustle of pages, Yugi called out, "Yami! Where are you going? I thought your show was still playing?"

Yami turned, taking in Yugi on his position in the big comfortable armchair, his large amethyst eyes peering at him. He was adorable. He was utterly innocent. _He's mine._

Yami sighed. "Truth be told, Yugi, I have not been paying attention. I only turned it on as an excuse to be near you; an excuse to sit beside you and touch you and not feel embarrassed because it was a perfectly innocent situation. But now I am frustrated and annoyed at myself, because I am jealous of that _book_ you are reading, because it is drawing you away from me. I am pathetic." Yami rubbed a long-fingered hand over his eyes wearily. He was sick of pretending; sick of seeking out excuses to be near his aibou. He was tired of hiding his overwhelming, aching love. "Listen, Yugi. I know you don't feel the same way, but I have to tell you that I-"

A small giggle cut his words short.

Yugi's hand flew to his mouth, and his eyes closed as the giggles escaped. He cracked an eye open; upon seeing Yami standing there, baffled, the giggles became guffaws, and finally all-out laughter. His Other looked on, utterly confused at this outburst. The laughter seemed to go on and on, high and sweet and pure, like a bell. Finally, with a few stray tears on his cheeks, Yugi's mirth died down into an occasional hiccupping chortle.

Yugi stood then, facing Yami, his eyes locked on his Partner's. With careful deliberation, he raised the book to eye level, before dropping it unceremoniously at his feet.

Yami blinked. "Yugi, what-"

Suddenly, Yugi was barrelling across the room toward him. Yami barely had time to cry out before he felt the impact of Yugi's small body against his own; the momentum carried him backward, and his feet failed him; the two collapsed into a pile onto the thickly carpeted floor.

"Ow! What the- what are you _doing?_ " Yami gasped, a little short of breath from the impact and feeling a rather dull ache in one elbow. Yugi raised his head, grinning sunnily at Yami; the Pharaoh was suddenly hyper-aware of his Hikari's closeness, his warm little body against his own. _Oh Gods, don't react, don't react, don't react. Think of unpleasant things. Bakura… think of Bakura…_

"I have been flicking through that damned book for over an hour now, Yami. Do you know what I came to realise?" Yugi asked with mock severity, giving his Other a little squeeze.

Yami cocked his head, confused. "What did you realise, Yugi?"

The large purple eyes peering at him narrowed. "I realised that you are completely thick-headed and oblivious."

Yami's eyebrows rocketed up his head. "Wh-what?"

"How much closer did I have to get to you before you'd make a move? I thought I was going to have to actually climb onto your lap." Yugi rolled his eyes with humour. "I was just about ready to go insane."

Yami took a moment to absorb this information. "So…"

Yugi gave a little tinkling laugh. "So."

Yami quirked an eyebrow with humour at his aibou. "Should I take this to mean that we can move on to something more… enjoyable?"

Yugi peered back with a heated gaze. "Oh, Yami, you can take whatever you want."

As their lips met for the first time, Yami couldn't help but sneer to himself. _Take that, stupid book._


	2. Seto Found the Ship List

**hehe ^.^ Hello all, I hope your day/night is treating you well. Just a quickie while I ride home on the bus.**

 **~Jehbel**

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"Oh my God, take a look at this." Seto Kaiba strode over to where Joey was sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing a hearty game of Mario Kart. At Kaiba's remarks, the blonde glanced up quickly, reluctant to look away from the hectic game for too long. "What are you oh-my-God-ing now?" He asked, mashing the keys to try and avoid a shell.

Kaiba gave an impatient _tsk_ and disconnected the Nintendo, eliciting a barrage of insults and curses from the blonde. "Oh, shut up, you can play it again later. I told you, _look at this._ "

Joey sighed and snatched the piece of paper from Kaiba. Scanning it quickly, he looked up at the brunette, his expression studiously bored. "So…?"

"So!" Exploded Kaiba, "It's sick! What the _hell_ is wrong with people? Some creep has decided that we are all a bunch of… of… sex fiends or something!"

Joey shook his head, laughing. "So what? It's just for fun, aint it? No harm in lettin' people fantasize is there?" He looked back down at the piece of paper, grinning like an idiot fox. "Hey! I'm in quite a few o' these! I must be pretty hot stuff." He glanced back up at the fuming brunette and sniggered. "I can't believe you just said 'sex fiend'. What are you, an old man?"

Kaiba made a spitting noise with rage. "They have me dating _everybody._ You, Yugi, Atem, Atem before he was Atem and was just Yami, Tea, even bloody _Bakura_. What the actual fuck?"

Joey was trying to contain his giggles. "Lookere Kaibs, they've even got you shackin' up with _Mokuba_!" He burst into outright laughter as Kaiba's expression melted into one of horror. "Don't sweat it, man! Besides, why did you include me just then? We _are_ dating, after all."

Kaiba scowled at the blonde, who was still chuckling at his reaction to the list. "I cannot believe these losers have nothing better to do than sit down and imagine us in completely inappropriate situations with each other. For Chrissakes, I'm Seto Kaiba- do I _really_ look like I have the time to be dating _anybody_ , never mind-" he quickly snatched the list off Joey and scanned it- "You, Serenity and _Banded Keith_? All at once? What the fuck…"

"That's called Boothshipping, apparently." Joey sniggered and wandered back over to the gaming console, stretching his arms above his head luxuriously. "Try not ta think too hard about it, Moneybags, it'll just make ya head spin."

Kaiba stared incredulously at the back of his boyfriend's head. "Are you seriously telling me, Wheeler, that you don't care if these people get their kicks imagining you fucking Yugi? Or, Tristan? Or _Serenity?_ " At mention of his sister, Joey flicked Kaiba an irritable look and replied, "of course I don't like it, idiot, but I aint gonna get upset about it, coz I know it aint true. If that's what makes people happy, let em write about it to their heart's content, I say. Besides-" and here, the blonde turned and winked cheerfully at the distressed CEO- "what's to say this moment right now isn't just a figment of someone's imagination?"


	3. Of Dancing and Death

**This tale is unrelated to my universe and is based on what happened immediately following a shooting that occurred at a school dance in InLoveWithMystery's new story, 'Always'- thank you my friend for allowing me to elaborate on an element of your fabulous tale :)**

 **Bakura and Ryou in this tale are twin brothers. The word 'aibou' is used here merely in its literal meaning, 'partner', not in a romantic sense.**

 **Contains some bad language and violence.**

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It was like a scene from _Carrie_.

Children were screaming, crying, their groans rising and swelling throughout the room. Terror and despair had a distinct flavour; it was sour and tangy, and made Bakura's already thick mane of hair bristle and stand erect. He clasped his brother to his chest; he would never let Ryou out of his sight after this. The white-haired thief peered around with bared teeth, daring anybody to approach him and his twin. Ryou was sobbing softly against his jacket, clutching the material with numb fingers. He was in shock, that was all; he had not been one of the unlucky ones to be hit. Joey had been grazed by a bullet but was ok, judging by the cursing and thrashing about he was doing. None of their other friends had been hit.

"Come, Ryou; I will take you home." Bakura peered down at Ryou, wrinkling his nose at the flecks of blood on his sleeves. "There is nothing we can do here." He rubbed his hands roughly up and down his shorter twin's back, trying to deliver some warmth into Ryou's cold shocked body. With a hiccupping sob, his brother nodded and pulled back a little. His eyes were wild and full of fear; a girl had been struck just next to him- he had seen it all. The shooter had stormed in, screamed something inarticulate, and began to fire his gun at random. Nobody knew who they were or why they had attacked a room full of innocent children at a school dance.

Bakura wrapped his arm around his twin's shoulder and turned him firmly around, leading him from the hall. He wanted to leave before the police arrived; he couldn't have some random stranger checking his dearest twin for injury and distressing him with questions. The very thought made his lip curl with anger.

Ryou was trembling, taking in the carnage around them. Blood whorls decorated the floor, cups and bags left discarded where they had fallen. Teens sat huddled, hugging; alliances and old hostilities forgotten in their shared grief and horror. Bakura did not really care for any of them; strangers all, as long as his seconds-younger brother was safe, his concern did not stretch to his fellow students. The thief spared a momentary thought for Ryou's friends; they at least warranted some concern, although Bakura was sure that they would all be fine. What mattered now was getting Ryou out of this hell-hole and forgetting all about it. It was none of their business.

"Yugi… Where is Yugi?" Ryou stammered, his head whipping around. He was particularly fond of Yugi and his older brother Atem; the two had shown him kindness and friendship when they had first moved to Domino, and had introduced Ryou to the gang. Like Ryou and Bakura, Yugi and Atem were brothers, although not twins like the two white-haired boys; Atem was older than Yugi, and like Bakura, fiercely protective. Bakura didn't mind the brothers; Atem was particularly proficient at Duel Monsters and the thief could appreciate his strategic way of thinking.

Ryou was struggling weakly against Bakura's arm, trying to look around the hall for his friend. Bakura gave a silent snarl but stopped walking. _"Aibou, we should leave this place. Yugi and Atem will be fine."_

Ryou wouldn't listen. "I h-have to make s-s-sure they're okay, Bakura. I c-can't leave them!" His teeth were chattering from the shock, his small slender body quivering with adrenaline. Bakura closed his eyes in exasperation, but gave in. _"Very well, but quickly, now._ " With a vague nod, Ryou moved away, his head craning to try and catch a glimpse of his best friend.

Bakura stalked through the crowds, exuding frustrated malice. The adults avoided him instinctively but he could see that nearby, his brother had been pulled up to give a statement; this was exactly what Bakura had hoped to avoid. With an impatient _tsk_ , the thief turned and began to weave his way back toward Ryou, stepping gingerly to avoid treading on any of the blood that flecked over the floor. In the distance, sirens were wailing, as the ambulance and police sped toward the scene. Bakura rolled his eyes; he just wanted to be out of here with Ryou. The gang would be fine; he and his twin were not needed here.

As he walked, a small voice suddenly sounded to his left. "Atem…?"

The teen's head snapped about, his eyes immediately noticing the eclectic hair of young Yugi, kneeling on the floor. Duke stood nearby, a weeping girl from their class held gently in his arms. Tea and Tristan had left earlier and missed the drama entirely.

 _There they are,_ Bakura thought with faint relief. He had not realised that he had been slightly worried about his twin's friends until he saw them now, safe. The white-haired teen flicked a final look at his brother, who was still being questioned, before striding over to join the gang.

 _"Well, that was certainly an interesting end to the…. night…"_ Bakura trailed off as he neared the group, and suddenly, with a lurch, he realised that something was terribly wrong.

Yugi knelt on the floor, a small space separating him from his friends clustered about him. In his arms, still and pale, lay Atem. The older boy was gasping shallowly, a bloom of blood spreading across his chest and stomach, his eyes closed. Yugi was trembling; with hands barely functioning from shaking, he moved his small palms around on Atem's chest, futilely trying to stem the bleeding. His face was frozen, shocked, his large amethyst eyes staring sightlessly.

"Atem… Atem, wake up! Wake up! Please!" His small voice rose above the surrounding murmurs; silence fell as across the hall, students realised that in the ultimate cruelty of life, a young man was pleading with his brother not to die. Adults were running over; Bakura could hear the mutters and whispers: "Protected Yugi…. shielded him from the bullet… he was hit, not Yugi…" It was too cruel, too sad. Yugi's cries and sobs echoed through the cold uncaring building, but Atem was not answering. Students stood about in silent impotence, watching Yugi beg his only sibling not to leave him.

Bakura's senses shifted, and he spun around to see Ryou running toward them, his face a mask of terror. _"Brother, do not come over here!"_ Bakura stepped forward, one arm coming out to wrap around his twin's waist. Ryou's large brown eyes were swimming; as he took in the scene before him, a cry tore from his lips and with a tremendous wrench, he freed himself from Bakura's grip and closed the distance between himself and Yugi. Joey was now hugging the small teen, speaking nonsensical words to try to keep him grounded. "It's orright, Yug', he'll be alright. He'll be alright. The ambulance is here, they'll fix him right up…" Ryou sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face, his own arms coming out to clutch at Yugi in solidarity and needful anguish.

Bakura watched, silent. Emotions rose in him like bile; sorrow, pity, but mostly, a deep smouldering anger. _They have hurt the friends of my little brother. They have dimmed his light and laughter. They have hurt the one I love by hurting those he loves._ The white-haired teen bared his teeth, his head low, shoulders rolling slightly.

 _It is time to go hunting._

Nobody noticed as the thief slipped out of the dance hall; it was, after all, his specialty.

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The man sat, huddled, his hands shaking with delayed shock. He had done it; he had taken his revenge on the little slut. After all, he had done nothing wrong, _nothing!_ The girl had wanted it; she had wanted him. She said so herself. But because of her sneaky, conniving, _bitch_ decision to tell her parents, he had lost his job. His wife had left him. He might be going to jail. How dare that little _whore_ put him out a job! She was lucky to have been noticed by him at all.

He breathed deeply, trying to calm his nerves. He hadn't expected to see so many people there. Never mind, never mind. School kids were all sneaky underhanded little bastards. A few less would make no difference. "What's one less brat, eh? Little fuckers deserve all they get. Whores and assholes," he muttered to himself, his own voice calming him down in the quiet of the abandoned factory he was hiding out in.

Suddenly, from the darkness, a snigger floated down to his ears; his heart began to pound almost painfully past with adrenaline as he scrambled to his feet with a gasp.

 _"I agree; fuckers deserve all they get."_ The voice was soft and menacing, full of spiteful glee.

"Who's there?" The man shouted, swivelling his head around to try and make out where his visitor was standing. Squatting, he reached out blindly for his gun, his eyes not leaving the surrounding darkness where he thought the stranger might be.

 _"You won't be needing that, don't worry."_ The voice sounded again, from behind him, making the man jump and swing about, brandishing his weapon wildly. Another chuckle slipped out.

"Come out of there you asshole, and face me properly like a man!" the gunman snapped, his fear lending anger to his words.

 _"Oh?"_ somehow, the voice sounded amused and curious; the man could imagine its owner cocking their head to the side. _"Did you face those school children like a man? Did you look him in the eye, unabashed, as you pumped him full of lead?"_ The voice was becoming flinty as it moved about him in the darkness, coming ever-closer.

The gunman gave a wild laugh as he realised he was talking to a student, his earlier fear evaporating. "Oh-ho! I get it now! Hurt your little friend did I? Well sorry kid but shit happens, people die. Now fuck off before I send you off to heaven with your little pal. I dunno how you found me but keep yer nose outta other people's-"

His tirade was cut short as he heard a little _snick_ , and the voice with calm and absolute menace hissed in his ear, _"Now what on earth makes you think I'm going to Heaven, mortal?"_

The gunman opened his mouth slackly, emitting a strangled 'gahhh'. He could not move; he could feel a sharp pain in his back- a pinching, digging pain. His legs failed and he would have fallen but for the steel-like arm of the stranger keeping him upright.

The voice continued, hissing, harsh and merciless. _"Don't be afraid, now. You won't go anonymously into the Shadows. like those poor children you slaughtered like cattle; I'll make sure you're remembered. They'll remember everything about you by the time I'm done."_ The ensuing snigger made the man's scalp prickle with icy fear.

The blade slipped in again, making the man grunt with pain. His legs were curiously numb now, but he could feel the razor sharpness of the steel against his bones; it gritted and ground and cut angrily into his vertebrae, the pain intense. He wanted to cry out, to beg the stranger to stop; but his mouth felt as though it were full of cotton wool, his eyes unfocused. The stranger began to hum, deep and almost undetectable, in his ear, the tune cheerful and carefree, at odds with the firm grip and venomous voice he spoke with.

 _"Do you know what murder smells like? It is rich and rotten like damp soil. It stings my nose. The smell of fear is almost as bad; it's like cat piss. Do you know what **you** smell like, right now? Do you?" _another crunching stab, another grunt of pain; _"you are a delectable combination of damp soil simply DRENCHED in cat piss. Are you afraid to die, mortal? You shouldn't be- because shit happens, people die- right?"_ his breath was warm on the man's neck, but it made him erupt into shivers of terror. He knew now that he wasn't going to escape this place.

Wrenching his blade free, Bakura dumped the man unceremoniously on the floor, moving to stand contemptuously before him, his hands crossed over his chest. His narrowed brown eyes glared down at the gasping whimpering man who lay, paralysed, on the floor. The white-haired thief squatted down opposite his victim, staring intensely into his face. For a split second, his expression flickered with something like grief, before he schooled it into a terrifyingly detached seriousness. _"Please do give my regards to Atem, if you see him."_

Then Bakura grinned; it was feral and gleeful and wrathful and utterly terrifying. _"That is, if I allow your soul to get that far."_

The gunman began to cry.

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The school shooting dominated the news that night; speculation was rife as to whom the gunman was and his reason for targeting the local high school dance. Only afterward did a very small news feature quickly cover an alarming animal attack that had taken place in a nearby abandoned factory; the newsreader reminded viewers to be on the alert for dangerous animals such as bears, which occasionally ventured into the city, particularly during winter. The man, assumed to be a homeless vagrant, had been literally torn to pieces, his corpse scattered throughout the warehouse. He had clearly suffered terribly in his final moments; the news readers lamented his horrific manner of death.

Bakura chuckled at the television, his arm wrapped protectively around his exhausted twin, who was dozing fitfully beside him on the couch. _"Damned animals, eh?"_

A little later, the phone rang. Atem had died.


	4. Mourning

**My sincere apologies for the awful poetry- I have never been good at writing it. A couple of lines of this just slipped into my head last night and I jotted them down.**

 **Yugi mourns the loss of Atem to the spirit world.**

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I woke last night, and thought you were here; I awoke, with a gasp, and you reached to dispel fear.

You took me whole-bodied, your arms firm around me, as your cheek rested gently atop my own head.

Then sadly, you murmured, "Do not concern yourself, love, with all the fears and concerns of the dead".

When I woke last night, and imagined you lived, my world seemed much simpler, and purer, and true.

But then I knew also that truth cannot be escaped, and I cried in my soul for myself losing you.

I opened my eyes to a room dark and cold, your presence no longer leaving a trace.

But I smiled and imagined that when I am old, I will pass to the shadows and you'll wait in that place.

And together we'll be once again and for all, because our souls cry for each other, and answer the call.

So when I awake and I reach for your hand, as I know will still happen as my heart seeks its fill,

I will not despair of your loss from this land, because when I cross over, you'll be, waiting, still.

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	5. Goggles Escapes This Time

**This story has a categorisation of **OU****

 **Oops had to delete and repost- made a huge spelling error :)**

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Ryou was worried about Bakura.

No- that was incorrect. He wasn't worried _about_ his Partner; he was worried _because of_ his partner.

To be completely accurate, he was worried about what his partner was scheming.

And Bakura was scheming; you could put your finger on that. When the thief spirit was not sleeping, he was scheming. In fact, Ryou was fairly certain that even the oblivion of sleep or death would keep Bakura from plotting and planning, conspiring and calculating.

Ryou sat in bed, propped against his pillows, the blanket tucked loosely under his armpits. He watched his Partner; Bakura was perched like a sinister cat on the end of his bed, his narrowed brown eyes trained on the fat little goldfish sluggishly moving about its bowl of water. The fish was breathtakingly ugly; its eyes bulged from it domed head, one more so than the other. Its fins were luxuriously appointed with frills, but were barely functional enough to keep its little potbellied body moving amongst its watery home. It gasped and gulped, and wriggled about like a spinning top, so very fruitlessly. Ryou loved that fish.

Bakura's eyes narrowed further.

"Bakura, what is the matter? You have been oddly quiet tonight," Ryou murmured softly, loud enough for his Other to hear but not so loud that he might startle the thief and draw his wrath; it was a fine line when it came to Bakura.

The white-haired thief didn't answer. He merely sat and watched, his face a mask of concentration.

Ryou sighed, but decided against pushing the matter.

As the smaller white-haired teen closed his eyes, pulling the blanket up under his chin, he felt his partner shift slightly. _"What is this thing, aibou?"_

Ryou opened his large brown eyes, peering at his partner with faint confusion at the question. He had had the fish for a long time and Bakura had never mentioned it before. "It's... it's a goldfish. A little fish. You keep them as pets." As Bakura looked less than impressed by this explanation, Ryou shrugged slightly; defensively. "They're cute, and funny."

Bakura's eyes narrowed further as he took in the sluggishly moving creature. _"It seems unwell."_

Ryou looked at his fish carefully, before shaking his head. "No, it's fine. That's just how he is. He's a little fat and can't swim too well."

 _"What does it do?"_

"What do you mean?"

 _"I_ mean _, what is it good for? What can it do for you? Why do you keep it here? What does it DO?"_ The thief spirit looked utterly baffled by the existence of the fish, bringing a small bubble of mirth to Ryou's throat. He did not dare laugh aloud however; Bakura did not take kindly to being mocked.

"It doesn't do anything, Bakura. You simply care for them and they live out their lives in their bowl. I suppose they look cute, and make the room more interesting? They're a bit like a decoration. You understand?"

Bakura was clearly struggling to understand. _"And you... you like this thing? You are fond of it?"_

Ryou shrugged faintly. "I suppose so. I think Goggles is cute, and I like to watch him swimming around when I'm bored." Bakura's expression was neutral as Ryou spoke, but the smaller teen had a faint feeling that the thief was unhappy.

 _"...I see."_

Ryou shrugged off his sense of unease and decided to distract his Partner the only way he knew how. Throwing his arms open, the teen affixed an expression of mock pouting to his face and called softly, "Bakura, my Other, I'm lonely tonight. Keep me company?"

The white-haired teen had barely finished speaking the words before the thief spirit had leapt across the bed and tackled him in an enormous crushing hug.

As Bakura's lips met Ryou's with hungry intensity, his hands fumbling urgently with his Partner's pyjama shirt and pants, Goggles continued his slow laps of the fish bowl, his mind oblivious to all but the joy of swimming.

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	6. Master (Dartz x Rafael)

****WARNING: SMUT! DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT LIKE BL SMUT!*****

 **This story is a one-shot based around Dartz and Rafael from the anime. This ship, as far as I know, does not have a ship name- so for now i'm calling it 'Dominateshipping'. Any suggestions, let me know- or, if you know if this ship has a name, please do tell me! :)**

 **Right. This story is by the request of gamergirl101, I hope I have done justice by your ship :) I have to admit it took me a while to write as I'm not very good with pairings I dont know/ship myself, but I did try my hardest. Thank you for your patience!**

 **(JustCallMeLucie, I haven't forgotten you either. It's coming! :-* )**

 **Enjoy!**

 **~Jehbel**

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Dartz paced the dark chamber like a caged cat, his mismatched eyes scanning the room for some feature or view that he had not already seen a thousand times. His body felt too small and frail for the surge of emotions that he was experiencing; boredom, fury, frustration, desire. He wanted to shout or pummel something with his fists- but of course, violence was never the answer. Not for somebody like him who dealt with the arcane and powerful, the mysterious and unseen forces of nature. With his slender build, he would never be a warrior; but he could still grasp the power he so desperately craved with other methods.

Yes, power; that was all that really mattered in this world. Harnessing it, and wielding it. Dartz was born to have power, to dominate others- to rule. He believed this as strongly as he believed in the rising of the sun each day.

Not that any of this helped him at the moment.

Suddenly, with a loud creak, the great stone doors to his chambers alerted Dartz to the approach of his useless underlings. The three cronies slunk into the room, Alister in the lead, with Valon and Rafael trailing closely behind. Dartz's eyes narrowed ominously as he took in their defeated stances- it was clear that once again they had failed him.

"Well?" His cultured voice rang across the cold stone chamber, making Alister and Valon visibly shrink before him; only Rafael remained impassively standing to attention, his gaze unwavering and unemotional on his superior's face.

Finally, Alister cleared his throat nervously. "I- I'm sorry, Boss. The ambush didn't work. They uh… went to a different location."

"You mean you waited at the wrong location." It was not a question, and Alister's shoulders hunched defensively against his Master's disapproving glare.

"It weren't our fault, Boss, really!" Valon interjected in his thick accent; Dartz had to suppress a grimace of distaste- Valon sounded ridiculous and idiotic when he spoke. "We went to the right place, alright, but they musta changed their plans last minute, ya know?"

Dartz could feel the familiar rage building; the impotent anger and disbelief at having to trust these imbeciles with the most basic of tasks and still hear their pathetic excuses whenever they failed. If only he could do it all himself! He was powerful, yes, but even the great Dartz could not be everywhere at once.

"You imbeciles! I do not need to hear your excuses; I want _results_! Now get out of my sight before I decide to use _your_ souls to feed the Great Leviathon. Get out! OUT!" He almost roared the final word, causing Valon and Alister to startle and scamper from the room before he could make good on his promise. Breathing deeply, Dartz paced the room, his eyes fixed furiously on the ground before him, his mind already frantically devising new plots and schemes to help him achieve his goals. _Power… we need more power. I need…more… Power!_ He ground his teeth together almost painfully; for the umpteenth time he wished he could hit something.

"Master… you can hit me, if you would like." Dartz jumped as he realised that Rafael was still in the room with him, and that he had clearly spoken his last thought out loud.

Whipping around to face his most loyal and capable henchman, Dartz snapped, "Don't be ridiculous. That would solve nothing. Why are you still here, anyway? Did I not tell all of you to get out? You are very nearly getting on my nerves, Rafael."

The tall well-muscled man barely reacted, his face impassive and calm as always. Taking a step toward his Master, Rafael intoned, "You seem distressed, Master, and I wanted to see if I could be of assistance."

Dartz sneered at the other man. "I am already in a bad mood, Rafael, you would do well to follow my orders and know your place instead of irritating me even further with stupid comments! Whose orders do you follow? Mine! So do as I command and _get out_ , _now."_ Turning his back on the silent but unmoving man, Dartz strode toward his altar, long hair rippling behind him like a cape, trying to swallow his surging feeling of rage and frustration. Why was Rafael not rushing to fulfil his every command? Why was he defying his Master? Why was his team so utterly hopeless? "Why am I not all-powerful yet?" He muttered to himself, hands rising to grip at his hair in frantic frustration.

"You are so obsessed with power, and dominance." The voice, quiet and thoughtful, so close behind him, made Dartz startle terribly. With utter shock, he turned to see Rafael standing behind him, not only still in the room but now standing within Dartz's sacred altar area. Rafael stood steadfastly, his face the usual mask of neutrality, his large muscled arms crossed over his impressively broad chest. Dartz could only gape with disbelieving rage at his follower. "Wh-What are you…"

Rafael stepped closer, his eyebrows lowering slightly with some unknown emotion, but he did not speak. Fury rose in Dartz like a thick poison, choking him with its potency.

"How _dare_ you question me. How _dare_ you step into this place. You are finished here. Leave, now. If I ever see your face again I will personally send not only your soul but your entire _being_ to the depths of hell." Dartz had not backed down, instead moving forward to face Rafael, their chests almost touching, as he spoke. His twin-coloured eyes glared hot and angry into the expressionless face of his taller follower; Dartz wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands for his impudence. Glaring with hateful rage into Rafael's face, Dartz continued in a low hiss. "You say I am obsessed with power? You have not even _begun_ to see my power, to see what I can do. I was born to this power and it will make me stronger even than I am now. I will use it to ruin this hateful world. I will-"

Suddenly, the tirade spilling from his lips was silenced, as Rafael covered Dartz's mouth with his own.

Dartz was utterly unprepared, his eyes flying open with shock, body refusing to respond. Rafael's large hands rose to grip his face on either side, pulling the shorter man closer to his own large body. His mouth pushed unforgivingly against Dartz's, forcing his lips apart, tongue moving in to claim the hot cavern of Dartz's mouth.

"Hnnng?!" Dartz grunted against Rafael's mouth, trying to gain some semblance of control over the situation. Finally, his hands rose to push against Rafael's hard chest, thrusting himself backward far enough to break off the kiss. Rafael's hands did not shift their grip on his face as the two stood, eyes locked, breathing harshly. "Rafael- what-?" Dartz gasped, his mind blank with shock.

Rafael did not reply, instead scooping Dartz up unceremoniously and carrying the smaller man in his arms like a baby. Dartz squawked and beat against Rafael's broad chest, but it was like striking a boulder- the taller man did not even flinch at the contact.

"Rafael! Put me down this instant! How dare-"

"Shut up." The abrupt reply caused Dartz's mouth to snap shut like a trap, and the bewildered man stared with wide-eyed shock into his follower's face. Rafael had never spoken to him like this before; in fact, the normally stoic and passive man often treated Dartz with something akin to hero-worship. Rafael's face was as neutral as ever, however Dartz thought he could possibly detect a hint of emotion in those studiously blank features. This was a side to Rafael he'd never seen before. Glancing around nervously, Dartz realised with sudden shock that Rafael was carrying him toward his bedroom; they were even now passing through the small antechamber just outside his sleeping quarters.

"Where the hell are you taking me, Rafael?" Although it seemed quite obvious, Dartz felt he had to say something, _anything,_ to put up some sort of an objection to the way he was being treated. Again he tried to squirm out of Rafael's strong grip, but he might as well have been beating his fists against a brick wall.

Suddenly, with a sickening lurch, he was airborn. He had barely uttered a cry of surprise before he landed in a tangle of limbs and hair atop his thick blankets on his bed. He felt utterly embarrassed and undignified; he wanted to kill Rafael. Before he could do much more than splutter and pull the long tendrils of his dishevelled hair from his face, however, he found himself again trapped. Rafael roughly grabbed both his hands, pinning them with one of his own to the bed, above Dartz's head. With his free hand, he clasped Dartz's narrow chin with gentle firmness, tipping the older man's head back to look him in the face. Rafael was sitting astride Dartz, his bulk preventing his slender master from wriggling away; indeed Dartz could barely move at all in such a position. The long-haired man's breath was coming in ragged gasps, shocked as he was by the turn of events. Likewise, while his expression remained deadpan, Rafael was breathing slightly faster, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink.

Dartz opened his mouth to make a final demand for release, and Rafael swooped down, covering his mouth with his own yet again. Dartz's eyes widened with shock, but he could do nothing, and Rafael plunged his tongue into his master's mouth with hungry abandon, hot and wet and unforgiving. He did not stop, and Dartz could only lay helpless and unresponsive as Rafael moved his mouth against his own, exploring and plundering and insistent.

Dartz's face felt hot and feverish, the overwhelming sensations forcing all thought from his mind besides _this is Rafael. Rafael is kissing me._ He could not tell how long it went on for; it could have been a moment, or an hour. Time was meaningless. Dartz's mouth was beginning to ache; his chin, where Rafael was holding him, felt bruised and red; his jaw was throbbing from being held open and resisting the other man's intrusion.

Finally, with a gasp, the two came apart. Rafael did not move his face far from Dartz's, pulling back only far enough to look him in the face. Dartz stared back, wide-eyed, and empty of words. He could not comprehend. Rafael's composure had finally broken slightly, and he glared down at his master with intense hunger. The silence stretched, and the two remained in place, panting, staring at one another.

Dartz closed his eyes, unable to continue staring into his follower's eyes. He felt confused, exhausted, exhilarated. He didn't know what to do; he didn't know what to say. His chest heaved and he turned his head to the side, Rafael's fingers releasing their grip at long last. He could not even begin to unravel how he was feeling.

"Master." The word snapped him back to the present, and he turned his face forward again, cracking an eye open to scrutinise the man sitting above him. Rafael leaned forward until he was laying almost chest-to-chest with Dartz, their noses barely an inch apart. Dartz wanted to reply, to spit in his face, to deny his existence, but he could not; instead, he lay, stunned, like a frightened deer, his eyes unable to look away. Rafael still held his hands over his head pinioned to the mattress. Dartz's heart was thundering, his thoughts muddled and confused. Rafael's free hand moved from its position near his neck to slide suggestively down his torso; although Dartz was fully clothed, the material was thin and slippery, and he could feel the roughness of Rafael's palm through it even now. His breath hitched.

Rafael's hand came to a stop over Dartz's chest, and he gently dug a fingernail into the flesh through the thin material, directly over his master's nipple. Dartz gasped and bucked in response, trying to dislodge the taller man, but he barely made Rafael move, as solid as he was. Rafael repeated the action, sending fissions of electric sensation to radiate through Dartz's chest. Again he gasped in response, as though he was conditioned to do so.

"Master," Rafael murmured again, his voice low and roughened, "I can feel your excitement."

Dartz gaped up at Rafael with helpless fury, his face flushing with intense embarrassment. In demonstration, Rafael shifted his hips slightly, and Dartz's face turned if possible an even deeper shade of red as he realised that the taller man was correct- he was hard, as was his follower. "It's involuntary!" He snapped, his eyes shifting away to avoid contact with Rafael's.

"I see," murmured Rafael, smiling faintly. He leaned forward to bury his nose in Dartz's neck, and began to suckle and nip gently at the sensitive skin. Dartz mewled with shock and tried to pull away, but Rafael's large hand began to pinch and tug at his nipple through his robes, and the smaller man could barely think between the two sensations. He was panting now, devoid of words, unable to object, and Rafael continued unimpeded, slowly working his way down and round Dartz's collarbone and back up to the other side. His hand moved slowly between Dartz's two nipples, teasing each in turn, leaving the other aching and hardened.

"Rafael-" Dartz panted, although he was unsure of what exactly he was going to say. In response, Rafael growled deep in his throat, moving to again cover his master's mouth with his own. The two worked against each other, teeth clashing, their tongues slipping and probing against each other. It was all sensation- no thoughts could permeate Dartz's fogged mind.

Suddenly, mid-kiss, Rafael pulled back, to stare down at the panting Dartz, his eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. Rafael smirked faintly. "Is it still involuntary, Master, or should I continue?"

Dartz's breath came in heaving gasps, the blood pounding in his ears. He ached all over, his flesh burning where Rafael had touched it. His mouth felt tender and invaded, but wanting of more assault. Faintly, he nodded, and Rafael cocked his head questioningly. Swallowing, Dartz cleared his throat and croaked, "… more…"

Rafael's expression darkened, and, using Dartz's two pinioned hands, pulled the smaller man upright in an abrupt and rough movement. Dartz cried out in surprise. Rafael shifted from his position, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet firmly planted on the floor, and with casual strength, pulled Dartz full-bodied across until the other man was sitting on his lap, facing his follower, his knees resting on the bed on either side of Rafael's broad lap. Dartz stared, wide-eyed, his mind not working, as Rafael grabbed both his hands and moved to drape them over his shoulders in a parody of an embrace. His eyes did not once leave Dartz's face, his expression almost grim with concentration. Leaning in a bit, until their noses were almost touching, Rafael growled, "You want more? Fine. But remember- you've agreed to this. I'm not going to stop, now. I _can't_ stop, now." Dartz's breath hitched in response, but he nodded faintly. It was too late, now. He had tipped too far.

Rafael rumbled, deep in his chest, then, wrapping one thick arm around Dartz's waist, he pulled the smaller man up and into him, mashing their mouths together in a greedy kiss. Dartz hummed in response, his hands moving to grip at the spiked blonde hair on the back of Rafael's head. The taller man gave a growl that vibrated between them, and his other hand moved down to roughly tug and fumble with the loose slacks that Dartz wore under his flowing tunics. He pulled Dartz higher and closer, so that the smaller man was resting his weight on his own knees and not Rafael's lap. He continued his persistent actions, never once breaking the kiss between them, their tongues lashing and fighting each other for dominance. Finally, Dartz's slacks had been pulled down until they would not move any further, and Rafael brought his hand up to cup and grope at the other man's buttocks. Dartz grunted, trembling, as Rafael's strong large hand squeezed and fondled his flesh, before moving further down, his fingers exploring, probing. Finally, he found the place he wanted, and with a savage suddenness, he inserted a finger.

Dartz gasped into Rafael's open mouth, and the blonde paused momentarily, before continuing his slow torturous movements. His finger drove steadily in and out with merciless regularity, and his other arm released its grip around Dartz's waist, instead moving upward to the small man's shoulder. His hand gripped Dartz's shoulder with gentle firmness and he began to pull it downward, in steady rhythm with his moving finger, pushing Dartz's body down and against his intruding digit.

Dartz's mouth was agape, his breath huffing in time with Rafael's movements, all thoughts of escape, and even the kiss, forgotten. He leaned his forehead against Rafael's broad shoulder, eyes half-lidded and unseeing, merely absorbing the sensations, allowing Rafael to do whatever he pleased. When a second finger joined the first, he grunted slightly in response, but Rafael did not even pause this time, instead increasing his rhythm, his own breath coming faster. Dartz groaned; it felt so good. In response to his groan, Rafael made a similar noise, bringing his other hand up to cup Dartz's chin and pull him in for a kiss. They moved together, Dartz rocking his hips in response, unaware himself of the action, moving to allow Rafael great access, and grinding down as deeply as he could onto the invading fingers.

Rafael's rhythm changed slightly, slowed; his fingers altered their movements marginally and Dartz suddenly half-gasped, half-groaned, as Rafael hit something deep inside, which sent radiating waves of fizzing pleasure through Dartz's body. Rafael grunted in acknowledgement, and began to move faster, hitting the same place each time, causing Dartz to throw his head back and close his eyes in a silent wail of pleasure. Dartz thought he might explode; his body was moving of its own accord, and just as he began to fear that the end was coming, Rafael removed both fingers in an abrupt motion that left the shorter man gasping with surprise and disappointed wanting.

"Up," Rafael spat, and Dartz obeyed immediately, understanding what the blonde man wanted. He again rocked forward onto his knees, removing his weight from Rafael's lap and giving the man space to move, which he did, both hands fumbling with his pants in an almost obscene display of excitement. He did not bother to completely remove his pants, doing enough only to release his straining member from the confines of his slacks. Flicking Dartz a heated look, he again spoke with a breathless shortness: "Hold onto me".

Dartz complied immediately, both hands moving to grasp at Rafael's broad shoulders, his breath coming in shuddering gasps. His fingers dug into Rafael's flesh in a spasm of nervousness. Rafael leaned forward to meet Dartz's mouth in a hungry kiss, before pulling away slightly and murmuring, "I'm going to be rough." Dartz could do no more than nod weakly in reply.

Without another word, Rafael pulled Dartz down, spearing into him ruthlessly, burying himself to the hilt inside the other man. Dartz cried out in a delicious mixture of pain and ecstasy, his fingers cutting little crescent grooves into Rafael's skin as his grip tightened. His eyes squeezed shut as Rafael immediately began to move, allowing him no time to recover or adjust to the intrusion. Rafael's breath was hot and ragged by his ear, gasping with each short, sharp thrust. His large hands moved to grasp Dartz's narrow hips, pulling him downward and against him with every driving movement, grinding them together, plunging as deeply into Dartz's tight entrance as he could.

"Ah…. Ah…. Ah… Raf… Rafael…" Too soon, too soon, Dartz could feel the building, the gathering promise of sweet release. He panted and whimpered with every thrust, pain having given way entirely to pleasure now, as Rafael hit that sweet place relentlessly with each spearing movement. Rafael was dragging rasping breaths, becoming more erratic by the second, and his pace increased to an urgency that Dartz knew meant he was also close. As their rhythm began to become uneven, the two began to groan and gasp with need, the movements jerky and aggressive as they tried to get deeper, closer, absorb all the sensation and reach the climax of release they both craved.

"Rafael! Please!" Dartz gasped shrilly, and as if called to answer, Rafael groaned, the sound almost agonised, and pulled Dartz's body down firmly against his own, shuddering as he finally gained the release he had been searching for. At the same time, Dartz felt himself go, and cried out mindlessly as his climax took him. He slumped heavily against Rafael's broad shoulder, spent beyond comprehension, his body still crashing with waves of fading pleasure.

At some stage, Dartz was not sure when, Rafael gently lifted him, depositing him gently on the bed amongst the dishevelled blankets. Dartz blinked, emerging from his haze, watching as Rafael stood and readjusted his clothing. He barely looked ruffled.

"Hmph." Rafael turned to scrutinise Dartz, who was grinning with an odd mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Master?"

"I know I told you I wanted to try some rough play, but honestly, Rafael, you took me by surprise. I didn't expect that of you."

Rafael shrugged ever so slightly, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you might enjoy being powerless for once; usually you are so bossy and dominating, I thought it would be fun." He quirked an eyebrow at Dartz in a silent question, making the long-haired man chuckle ruefully in response.

"I suppose it wasn't so bad. But-" he climbed out of bed, moving fluidly toward Rafael, standing stolidly in front of him. Reaching up, Dartz grabbed a handful of each of Rafael's long sideburns, pulling the taller man's head down toward his own with casual roughness. Rafael winced slightly at the pain. "If you _ever_ talk to me that way again, I will personally ensure your slow and very painful death. Understood?"

Rafael smiled slowly, his eyes taking in his still-flushed Master glaring up at him adorably. "Of course, Master."


	7. The White Hare

**This is the same chapter as was originally posted for a story I decided not to continue with, The White Hare (was also known as The Spreading Warmth). As I decided to discontinue that story, I've 'archived' the first chapter of it here as I don't mind it as a standalone. Apologies to those who have already read it!**

 **This is a different universe to that of Not Always Smooth Sailing or Dark Thoughts.**

 **~Jehbel**

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Bakura slapped a palm down upon the polished wooden counter top, leaving a crisp note behind. Sighing loudly, he shrugged off the heavy winter coat and scarf he was wearing, draping them casually over the back of the stool he had pulled out for himself. "Ryou. Fix me up, will you?"

The white-haired bartender turned to face his newest arrival, his customary gentle smile affixed in place. "Bakura. I didn't expect you tonight. Whisky?" At Bakura's nod, the young man deftly dropped several large ice cubes into a tumbler before dousing them liberally with the fine amber liquid; Ryou was never mean with his alcohol portions, yet another reason why Bakura favoured this bar over the many others in the worker's district.

Ryou slid the glass easily across the bar to Bakura, before wiping both hands fastidiously on his deep green apron. "Tough day at the office, huh?" His eyes were faintly sympathetic, but not too probing; Ryou knew to let Bakura open up if he felt like it rather than pushing the issue. Not bothering to answer, Bakura merely tossed the drink back in one gulp, his teeth aching as the ice clattered against them. Wincing slightly at the burn in his mouth and throat from the alcohol, Bakura shook his head to clear it, focusing on the mild-mannered young man in front of him. "Yeah. Pretty rough."

Ryou nodded as though Bakura had explained the situation thoroughly. "Mr. Motou still hassling you?"

The mention of his boss, Atem Motou, made Bakura finally release his pent up anger. "Yes! The fucker. I swear, he makes me do the most basic shit just for the fun of it. He acts like a goddamned king or something, the way he lords his position over me. Just a year ago we were both on the same rung but now that he's moved up a notch, he looks at me like I'm a piece of shit. Fucking faggot." Ryou winced slightly at the foul language, but did not comment; this was the one place that Bakura could let off steam, voicing his opinions without fear of retribution. "Seriously, I hope Kaiba Corp. does another reshuffle real soon and sends one of us away; it can't keep going the way it is, I'll kill him before too long."

Ryou's delicate features were vaguely concerned. "They wouldn't send you away, would they?"

Bakura raised an eyebrow mockingly. "What, worried you'll lose your best customer?"

The two men paused then, turning to take in the largely empty bar. Ryou sighed quietly and Bakura felt a stab of guilt; it was so easy to bully the smaller man, as Ryou never fought back and seemed so capable of taking it. _It must be hard though to have so few people come in; he must be losing money on this place,_ Bakura mused to himself.

Ryou gave a self-depreciating grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "More so that I would miss your colourful company. It sure is dull in here on nights you don't come in." The white-haired man sounded genuine, but Bakura still snorted with disbelieving laughter. "Sure, Ryou. Whatever you say."

The two sank into a comfortable silence, Ryou wiping the bench down with a ghost of a smile on his lips, Bakura staring glumly into the slowly-melting ice cubes in his cup.

Suddenly, the neck of a bottle appeared and more whisky tumbled merrily into the cup in front of Bakura. With a small jump of surprise, he looked up into Ryou's kindly brown eyes questioningly. "This one's on me," Ryou murmured, before stoppering the bottle and turning away, busying himself with organising clean cups. Bakura raised an eyebrow, but did not object; free alcohol was free alcohol, after all. He drank it slower this time, enjoying the faint traces of wood smoke in the whisky, appreciating the increasing warmth that was radiating from his chest with every swallow. Dimly, the bell over the door rang as another patron entered, Ryou turning immediately to greet them with the submissive cheerfulness he wore so well. Bakura paid them no heed; he sat, eyes staring unseeing into his cup, the vapour of the alcohol making the glass shimmer and dry with evaporation even as he watched.

Bakura had known Ryou for close to two years now. It had been purely by chance; Bakura had stumbled into the dimly lit bar on the heels of a particularly violent gust of sleety winter wind, cursing and spitting as his coat was whipped around him and his work papers almost torn from his cold-deadened hands. Tumbling through the heavy wooden door, Bakura had found himself instantly warm and surrounded by the comforting smells of alcohol, wood polish and the cologne of male customers before him.

"Welcome! It's horrid weather outside, isn't it? Come have a drink- Oh!"

Bakura looked up, startled, as a shorter man with a shocking mane of white hair barrelled toward him. Pulling up just short of physically touching Bakura, the young man peered up into his face, his own cheeks a faint pink, his eyes wide and full of expression, a wondrous smile spreading across his face. Unselfconsciously, the shorter man reached out, grasping a lock of Bakura's long white hair between two fingers. Bakura flinched away slightly, but the shorter man didn't appear to notice, his large brown eyes locked on the hair he was gently holding.

"Oh my goodness. I have never, _ever_ , seen anybody with hair like mine before! Incredible! Look- we're like twins!" Shuffling closer to Bakura, the young man held his lock of long hair against his own similarly coloured tresses, his grin even larger. I was true; Bakura had likewise never seen anybody with naturally white hair like his own, devoid completely of greys, silvers or streaks of any kind. This stranger also had rich brown eyes and similar pale skin, however he was slimmer than Bakura, and shorter by almost six inches. Still, the similarities were extraordinary. Their faces were even quite similar in appearance, however the shorter man had larger, more expressive eyes and a face made for smiling; Bakura's own harsher features were dominated by his almost constantly narrowed eyes and scowling mouth.

Bakura took a measured step back away from the shorter man, peering down at him with faint hostility. "Who exactly are you, and why are you touching me?" He growled, raising a palm to break the other man's grip with his hair.

Unexpectedly, the cheerful man gave a small chuckle, but did not apologise for his rudeness. "I am Tetsuhiru Ryou; just call me Ryou though, everybody does. I'm the proud owner of this fine establishment!" Gesturing expansively behind him, Ryou waved his arms about in draw Bakura's attention to the tables and stools placed around the room. There were only two other people in the bar, both sitting in isolation at opposite ends of the dark space.

Bakura eyed the shorter man with faint surprise; Ryou looked barely old enough to have graduated school, never mind own a bar of his own! Now that he was looking at the white-haired barman properly, he noticed the thick heavy apron he was wearing. _Do people still wear aprons? Bloody hell._

Ryou turned back to Bakura, eyeballing the taller man with enthusiasm. "So how about it? Want a drink? It's on me, for a first-time visitor!" Grinning, he turned abruptly and padded back to the bar, flapping his hand lazily at the sullen-looking woman who had raised her glass in silent request for more alcohol. "I'm coming, Mia, be there shortly!"

After a brief pause, Bakura reluctantly followed the cheerful barman, shrugging out of his now too-warm coat and gloves as he did so. _Well, if the drink is free, I won't argue,_ he thought, placing his papers neatly atop the counter as he pulled a stool up to the counter. "I guess I'll have a whisky then, if you're shouting." Ryou merely chuckled, pulling out a large bottle of the strong spirit and dropping a good amount into a squat tumbler glass. "Ice?" Bakura nodded, watching his efficient movements.

Ryou pushed the glass across with a small flourish, still smiling like an idiot fox as his doppelgänger accepted the drink with a silent nod. "So, then. Names. You know mine. What's yours?" He leaned forward onto his elbows, raising an eyebrow at Bakura, his long unbound hair almost touching the polished wooden countertop.

Bakura scowled at the overly enthusiastic bartender but ignored the question, throwing the liquid back in one abrupt action instead. Placing the cup firmly down atop the counter, Bakura looked down at his long lean fingers, wrapped protectively around the glass in front of him. He could feel the stare of the barkeeper boring into him and sighed. He hated having to make small talk. He hated people in general. Glancing up, his eyes met Ryou's own rich brown orbs; the white-haired server immediately smiled in response to Bakura's stare, his face resting in both palms as he leaned on his elbows on the counter, simply staring.

Bakura scowled. "Don't you have somebody else you need to serve?"

Ryou gave a little jump, blinking and standing upright as though he had been utterly unaware of his stance. "Erm- yes! Sorry!" He scampered off toward the woman who was now glaring unsteadily in his general direction. "Coming Mia, sorry! Another wine? Yes, yes, I know, the '74 batch…" Bakura shook his head incredulously. Obviously the bartender was a bit airheaded; he wondered afresh at how somebody so young could already own a bar. Standing, Bakura quickly gathered his coat and papers; he would leave before he got dragged into another pointless and awkward conversation with the clearly bored and overly friendly owner.

Just as Bakura's palm touched the rich mahogany door of the bar exit, he heard Ryou's voice call out behind him. "Oh! Sir, you're leaving already?" Bakura sighed, turning to face the now comically downcast bartender, standing just behind him, his hands clutching the material of his apron.

"Yes. Thank you for the drink. But I have to be home." Bakura nodded curtly at the shorter man, hoping to convey his desire to be away as soon as possible.

Ryou nodded, his expression akin to a kicked puppy. "I understand. Thanks for visiting! Please come again, Hn?" His large brown eyes met Bakura's, hope and excitement written all over his expression. _What is with this guy? He's far too friendly. It's weird._

Bakura's expression did not shift from his deadpan gaze. "I doubt that'll happen." Then, before Ryou could reply, the taller man slipped through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

The wind had died down slightly, but snow still flurried sporadically around him, sticking to his coat and scarf in wet clumps. Bakura raised his face to the sky, feeling the warmth of the bar and the whisky fading steadily from his face and chest. _Well, back to it, I suppose._ He turned toward home, pausing only briefly to look at the name of the bar: _The White Hare_. With a snort, Bakura continued on his way. _Strange guy, strange place. Not really my thing. I definitely won't be back._

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Now, two years on, things had changed in some ways, and remained the same in many more. The bar was still dimly lit, warm and oddly cozy, and its clientele had continued to remain virtually non-existent but for a few loyal regulars such as Bakura. The changes were harder to see, but felt more keenly by Bakura, who had been coming to The White Hare longer than anybody else now.

The greatest change was in Ryou. The shorter white-haired man had steadily but noticeably lost his spark. His smile for Bakura was as ready as ever, but now rarely reached his eyes; his face seemed perpetually tired, sad and drawn. He was a year younger than Bakura, but looked five older; he had faint worry lines around his eyes, and if his hair were not already the purest of whites, Bakura would have bet that it would have turned that way by now anyway. He could not pinpoint what had caused the change, but Ryou was no longer the bubbly, airheaded barman Bakura had met that cold sleety afternoon; he was diminished, and weary. However, his gaze softened and always broke into a smile for his friend, and the drinks more often came free than not. Bakura wondered how on earth The White Hare was still managing to stay open with the lack of steady patrons and the owner giving away free, expensive, drinks; but the one time he had mentioned such to Ryou, the young man had become both angry and cagey in his response, and Bakura had since decided that it was none of his business.

Ryou and Bakura had become firm friends; despite their initial awkward start, Ryou's persistent enthusiasm had eventually worn Bakura down, as a vigorous stream of water would to solid stone. They were opposites in every way; Ryou was upbeat, positive and sociable- Bakura disliked crowds and mingling with anybody unless strictly necessary. His personality was abrasive and intolerant, and he often caught himself being scolded gently by Ryou for his language and cruel comments. In contrast, people loved Ryou and his easy nature, and on the rare occasions a large group would visit the bar, Ryou often ended up singing and dancing amongst them all, his duties all but forgotten.

With the barman's gentle insistence, Bakura had become better at tolerating the occasional conversation with others, but he did not feel the need to make friends; Ryou was more than enough. The two occasionally caught up outside of the bar for a meal or to go shopping, but generally their interactions were limited to Bakura's regular visits to The White Hare.

"You're awfully quiet tonight." Ryou's voice snapped the white-haired man out of his reverie, and Bakura raised his head to meet the barman's eyes.

"I was just remembering when we first met. Can't believe it's been two years already." Bakura scratched his nose with faint embarrassment at the nostalgic comments, but Ryou did not tease him, instead smiling at Bakura with silent fondness before gesturing toward the whisky bottle again. "Another?"

Bakura shook his head regretfully. "I'd love to, but I have to do more work tonight; I have to get the contractor hours done for Atem by tomorrow." Heaving himself to his feet, Bakura gathered his belongings and waved Ryou away as he tried to press Bakura's change into his hand. "Nah, keep it, it's fine." Winding his scarf around his neck, Bakura continued with mild humour, "I'll be back before too long to spend it, I'm sure."

Ryou smiled, his slender hand closing slowly around the discarded coins. His large sad eyes watched as Bakura reluctantly moved across the room and opened up the front door, letting in a small gust of cool air. "Well," Ryou replied quietly, "you'll know where to find me."


End file.
